Burn the Minutes Away
by Kara Jayne
Summary: North resorts to her fiery passion when office duties become too mundane.


Where did Markus put them?! Their leader's become bold to hide the new stock from North, as she digs away at each shelf, careful to put everything back where they last sat. The supply room can't be that full, as it's merely the size of a walk in closet, but damned if he didn't find a good spot for the matches this time. The woman's gone through twenty boxes already - but not for emergency purposes as Markus had intended them for.

No, she finds more entertainment out of the little red-ended sticks than use. Or maybe that is a use? Since the world has come to peace with them, day to day routines are just boring. But the matches… they're an enigmatic force of life in themselves, almost uncontrollable if put in the right circumstance.

Finally, her hazel eyes glance upon the beloved box sitting furthest away from the front it can. Damned Markus for calculating her short arms into the picture! Luckily, someone left the rickety broom against the wall behind her, so North grabs it from behind and maneuvers it so the box slides forward enough, landing it right within her grasp off the edge of the shelf.

Escaping the small space is as easy as it was to enter. With enough dodging, the woman finds an empty route to the back door of the building. Since Jericho resides at a bay again, there's a sturdy ledge to sit on right across from the door and a nice breeze to boot.

Once settled, she oogles the contents as the box slides open. It's labeled count is two hundred… silent calculations estimate that it should pass about two hours of the monotonous day. Hell, nothing else is happening around here anyway, so it's not like she's needed.

The first one is the most important choice, though, aside from the last one that will remain in the end. Heh, maybe she should leave that one as evidence. Or a burnt one. The plot puts a too-satisfied smirk on her face, smug in every devious intention she can muster with such a small ploy. Reaching carefully, the perfect one is right on top, no nicks in the wood, a good straight cut, and the most vivid tip in the whole collection.

Pyro-manic eyes watches as the first piece lights in wonder, observing every shade of yellow, orange, and red swirl about in battle. But it's always the _faintest _shade of blue that wins, almost in the same sense how their blue blood won the revolutionary war. The tip of the flame violently tilts and flits indecisively in the air until it reaches near the end of the stick, where her grip keeps it steady as can be. It's just her and the small fire before her. If she were human, her fingers would be charred, but thats why the deviant woman is proud of who she is. Once it's as finished as can be, North shakes the little bit of wood that's left, snuffing out the warm light it once shown. It's time for the next.

199.

198.

197.

196.

195.

194.

193.

Each flame is beautiful in it's own unique way, reminding her of the way things use to be when they had something they had to actually _fight _for. The ignition of guns, the passing wind as short blades whiz across, even the smell of smoke, another little element of this box of joy she intakes as they burn, burn, burn (also another reason she's lighting them _outside_). It even starts turning into a game of finding a distinguished enough shade that matches her auburn braid.

With this, time measures by the number of piled ashes at her feet. That's where they will stay, too, it's concrete, and it'll eventually get blown away by the wind, the dusty evidence disappearing into the ocean before Markus even knows.

She's all too enthralled in every lit match and the heat they give off, losing all sense of reality. Before she knows it, everyone will be ready to depart from shitty office duties and she can pretend she hadn't wasted another one of their "precious resources." (Pssshhh, they're so cheap, why does it even matter?)

With just a few left, a cloudy image of Markus forms through one of the fiery tips. North scoffs; wow, now they're like the clouds in the sky: look hard enough and use some imagination and you'll see just about anything and everything.

"Seriously, North? Do you how much I've spent on box after box because of _this_?" The image of Markus suddenly turns real as he takes what's left of the box away and puffs out the one held tight between her fingers.

North stands, fists closed in defense as she looks him square in the eyes. "Hey, I was watching that!"

"Sixty boxes in one month. _Sixty_! The sales clerks are going to start thinking we're committing arsenery if they haven't suspected it already. They're for _emergency purposes only_." Hodge podge! Since when did they need matches for anything?! Excuses, she swears. It's all an excuse to torment her. Markus continues, as if able to read her mind. "And yes, everything is finished now, so we can go. C'mon so we can lock up."

The woman glares daggers into his back as he turns to walk back inside. He can't stop her. _He won't_. She'll just find another spot to resort to when the fixation beckons again, and it won't be just sixty boxes to complain about anymore.


End file.
